Nightmare
by Grave Bells
Summary: BuJeet Week - Day 2 - Prompt: Nightmare. Baljeet, well, has a nightmare. Short, not even very fluffy, but I suppose it might possibly be somewhat readable. BuJeet.


A/N: Tiny one-shot drabbly business for BuJeet Week on tumblr! Today's prompt was Nightmare.

Enjoy lol weep

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_**Nightmare**_

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_ Blood._

_ There was so much blood._

_ From his nose, his eyes, his ears, his mouth, his chest, pooled under his limp body like a lake. Dark and red and shiny in the awful, flickering warehouse lighting, and it was all he could do not to pass out._

_ He stumbled, and wretched onto the grimy poured cement floor._

_ So much blood._

_ It smelled of iron, of moisture, of puke. Pungent._

_ His eyelids fluttered, and leaked._

_ Warm liquid trailed across the floor to engulf the soles of his shoes. Red footprints hesitated across the floor, overcome with horror and fear._

_ Dread._

_ His throat tightened, choked on the aroma and the emotion._

_ His eyes had stayed open, vibrant green now red and faded. Pink skin had paled to a soft lavender, stiff and cold and dripping._

_ Draining._

_ The closer he got the more he cried. The more everything hurt. The more everything else died too._

_ Blood bubbled at the corner of his mouth, then popped and dribbled._

_ He lost his footing, his brown, scraped knees splashing in the blood below him._

_ His heart hurt. Ached. Sharp, like someone was ripping it in half._

_ So, so cold._

_ Dead._

Baljeet jerked violently out of sleep, panting lightly and staring wide-eyed at the wall next to his bed. He was hot, sweaty, and, for a moment, completely out of sorts. But the spotty memory of his dream came back to him the longer he was awake.

The smell, the sights, the sounds; it had all felt so real.

He shifted up in bed, his trembling hands finding the wet trails starting down his cheeks as he recalled the images. He dragged his legs up under the light summer sheet to his chest, then proceeded to bury his face in his knees to quiet his sniffling.

_Buford, he was..._

His chest hurt.

_And the blood..._

He bit into his bottom lip, determined to stop sobbing. His throat stung and he couldn't keep grip on his lip when his face was so twisted in despair.

_He'd been so cold..._

Baljeet's fingers wrapped themselves into his curls and tugged down on them, this horrible twist settling in his stomach and making the tears fall steadily. It was a lot harder to stay quiet than he thought.

There was a disturbed shifting to his left.

"Nnnnnmph... 'Jeet...?"

Baljeet inwardly cursed, quickly shifting to wipe his eyes and his nose before scooting back down into a lying position on his side.

"Y-yes?" he asked, again cursing the unsteadiness of his mumbled response.

"What're ya doin' awake...?" the burly man next to him grumbled sleepily, pushing up on an elbow as he tried to examine the small frame next to him with bleary, sleepy eyes. "'T's like... 4 in the mornin'..."

"I-it is nothing. Just go back to sleep, Buford." Baljeet couldn't deny the emotion in his voice. His eyes were already streaming again too; how silly was it that he could be so affected by a silly little dream about the person who slept next to him every single night? He knew Buford would be there in the morning, he knew dreams weren't real. There was no reason to be acting the way he was.

There was this tense pause where the Indian had hoped Buford had fallen back to sleep.

But then there was this soft touch on his shoulder, urging him to roll over onto his back.

Buford's brows furrowed softly, worriedly, when Baljeet wouldn't roll over.

"'Jeet... What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Baljeet replied sharply, but his voice still cracked. _Shit_.

"Don't pull that shit with me." Buford knew Baljeet always tried to deal with this kind of shit alone. It was one of the few things he'd ever had a problem with when it came to Baljeet; he always tried to shoulder all these heavy emotions alone instead of letting him help carry them, or make them better. He sighed softly, again urging the other male to turn over. "Please Baljeet."

Hearing the slight desperation in Buford's words, Baljeet let his pride fall. He couldn't keep denying Buford, not with his emotions so totally wrecked, even over something so insignificant as a bad dream. He sniffed rather noisily, then rolled onto his back to stare up at his boyfriend through tears.

Buford's eyes widened, and he instantly leaned over and brushed at the tears with his thumbs, a little panicked. "Shit, 'Jeet, what happened?"

Baljeet's lip quivered miserably. He felt like he was six; vulnerable and weepy and weak. It was just so easy to submit when the nightmare was about the horrible gruesome death of your lover.

"It-it was just a nightmare, but..." he choked, wiping at one of his eyes.

Buford instantly scooped the smaller frame into his arms, hugging his 'nerd' close while pulling him into his lap. He slipped the fingers of his right hand through Baljeet's damp black curls, and tightened his grip with his left when the other male quickly buried his face into his chest and wrapped his fingers in his shirt.

"Say no more, babe."


End file.
